


Picture a Dream

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-18
Updated: 2004-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narsus paints the king's portrait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Caithion

 

 

Narsus was painting the King.

It wasn't the first time he did it -- since they had returned to Ekubatana and he had been given the position of Royal Artist, he had taken up a self-imposed duty to paint Arslan's portrait each year. Daryuun never failed to give Arslan horrified commiserations about such a torture, but the young King just smiled and put the portrait sittings into his busy schedule. Arslan was easy to deal with in such matters, unlike Daryuun.

Now, with the general there was no hope to ever lure him in for a sitting, so Narsus did countless sketches, trying to collect enough material for a portrait, and dismissed them all as unsatisfactory -- he really painted much better than he drew. Daryuun's portrait would just have to wait, and meanwhile he would do a yearly portrait of Arslan, a marvellous and easy subject.

A bit too easy, perhaps. Arslan knew how to sit still and to be attentive -- even a beginner could have painted his official portrait, but that wasn't what Narsus wanted. He knew how expressive the young king's face could be, and he wanted to capture those expressions, to leave the spirit of Arslan for all future generations.

However, that became harder and harder as Arslan grew older and more involved in his duties. Narsus couldn't blame him, of course -- politics required discretion and the ability to control yourself, and Arslan was becoming as good a king as he had promised to be that first morning when he had promised to make Narsus his Royal Artist. However, this fine self-control was no help in an artist's work.

So Narsus invented ways to circumvent it. He poked and prodded, looking for topics that excited and interested Arslan, so that the king's eyes would shine and his whole posture would change, and he'd forget at least for a moment that he was sitting for a portrait.

Of course, that needed to be done carefully, but Narsus was a master in turning conversations where he wanted them to go. Today they were talking about current events. It was a fine late summer morning, and Narsus's studio in the palace was full of light, making Arslan's pale blue hair look almost golden. The king was giving him the latest news about Daryuun.

"He managed to deal with those tribes without fighting, however unlikely we all thought it'd be. Who knew Daryuun would turn out to be as fine a diplomat as he is a general?"

Now, this topic obviously interested Arslan; he was smiling animatedly, his eyes bright and clear. Narsus cocked his head a little and looked at his painting, adding a brighter tone of blue to the eyes.

No. That wouldn't do. He managed to paint a smile on Arslan's face, but it wasn't the kind of smile he wanted. It was still too official, the way he would smile in court; this was already captured on many portraits of varying quality, some of those his own. Perhaps he'd better change the topic.

"You miss him, don't you?" he asked when Arslan paused.

"Daryuun?" This smile was better -- tender and sweet, reminding him of a younger Arslan, but all too fleeting. "Of course I do. He is..." The king closed his eyes, obviously struggling to find the right word. "He's indispensable for Palse, but he is also indispensable for me. I have many good servants, but I haven't that many people on whom I can rely absolutely. I haven't that many friends," Arslan concluded matter-of-factly.

The smile, however, disappeared. Narsus thought he got a handle on it -- a little more light on the face of the portrait, and the eyes should be directed just so... He wanted to see it again, though.

Or did he? Narsus paused, running through a mental catalogue of the emotions he had noticed on Arslan's face.

"Have you heard anything from Estelle lately?" he asked. Some courtiers speculated that Arslan had her in mind for his queen, and although Narsus did not believe that, Estelle still was a person he'd better keep track of. "Many friends seem to be away lately..."

Arslan looked at him seriously, for a second cocking his head to the side and then immediately resuming the set pose. He was always good about remembering these poses. "I'm sorry," he said, "you must be missing Daryuun a lot, even though you know he's needed away as well as I do."

Narsus blinked a little, replaying Arslan's statement in his mind. "I do miss him," he said carefully, "as much as you do, perhaps, but we both know how devoted he is to his duties."

"No, I..." Arslan paused. "That wasn't what I meant. You and Daryuun..."

"What about me and Daryuun?" Narsus repeated; then he smiled, finally understanding. "No, Daryuun and I aren't lovers, if that's what you mean. We never were. I confess, I had something of a crush on him when we were both young -- it was almost unavoidable, but I grew out of it," he noted, remembering those days with a little melancholy. "He's the kind of man who needs wife and children; family is almost as important to Daryuun as his duty."

Suddeny Narsus noticed some strange flicker in Arslan's eyes. He thought he knew what it was. "He loves you very much, though," he said. "If anyone male has a chance with him at all, that'd certainly be you."

Well. Arslan's look became stranger yet. Perhaps he should have obeyed his own rules and kept from giving relationship advice. But this was Arslan, the prince he had helped to make king, the young man who had listened even to people he did not agree with... In the past few years Narsus had learned to speak openly in front of Arslan.

"I'm not in love with Daryuun," Arslan said, closing his eyes briefly, and Narsus wondered how he'd look sleeping. He had seen Arslan the boy asleep several times during the war, but this was Arslan the man, tranquility mixed with wariness, grace with strength...

Apparently he got distracted, for the next thing he noticed was Arslan looking at him.

"I'm not in love with Daryuun. I never was," Arslan repeated seriously.

Narsus shrugged slightly. "If you say so, then, of course, I believe you. Are you, perhaps, interested in someone else?" he asked, watching Arslan's face. He hadn't seen the king blush in a very long time -- that shade of delicate pink would be difficult to attain...

"Yes," Arslan said. "I am. And I thought if anyone would know it, it'd be my master strategist, but obviously I was mistaken."

Narsus smiled a little ruefully. "I never claimed to be a strategist in these matters. And besides, I am just a simple artist now."

Arslan gave him a strange smile, shaking his head slightly. "You can never be a simple anything, Narsus," he said softly. "Can't you risk a guess?"

Narsus tried to analyze Arslan's expression without getting distracted by the shades of blue in his eyes. Could he ever paint all this? And could he be seeing what he thought he was seeing there? It was too great a risk, to make a guess now. It would never pay off--

The king stood up.

Narsus glanced at him, noting how the different posture changed the lighting and made Arslan's face sharper, making him look grimly resolved as if he were leading an army to battle.

It took three strides for him to approach Narsus, and then, in a movement uncharacteristic for his usual tact, the king practically inserted himself between the artist and his canvas.

It wasn't the picture he was looking at, however, and Narsus had no time to protest as Arslan's hands settled on his shoulders and Arslan's lips pressed to his own. And then he had too many impressions of Arslan all at once, colour, taste, smell, sensation, and he was cataloguing all of them eagerly even though he knew he wouldn't want to share most of them with anybody, art or no art.

So he hadn't been wrong in guessing, he decided when he could think again; and he hadn't been wrong in refraining from voicing that guess. Maybe he had found a useful strategy in matters of the heart after all.

"It was you," Arslan whispered, his eyes laughing. "Not always, perhaps, but for a very long time. How come you haven't discovered that, my master strategist?"

"Well," Narsus answered, "since your own strategy in dealing with this matter worked so well, why would you need a strategist?"

Then, precluding a possible answer from the laughing young man in his arms, he turned to collecting some more impressions of Arslan. It looked like he'd have to paint another picture, one he'd keep for himself. The picture of the dream he didn't even know he had.

The end.

 


End file.
